Finding Tomorrow
by dreamonloves
Summary: Maya Penelope Hart doesn't know if she can trust people. Trusting they will stay means giving up a part of yourself. But maybe Lucas Friar can show her it's worth the risk. Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Meets World or any of the stories mentioned. SLOW UPDATES.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I was looking through my notebooks and found this story that I wrote in freshman year, and I thought maybe someone will like it. This is my book edited into an AU where Ava is Lucas' sister, Lucas and Riley are best friends, and Maya hasn't met them yet. I hope you enjoy it!**

 **P.S. I have no idea how to coffee.**

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Chapter One

I stare at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. I twist my body to look at the clock and see that it's four AM.

 _Just relax,_ I tell myself. _You need to relax for once in your goddamn life._

But the truth is that I'm terrified of sleep. It only brings nightmares - well _a_ nightmare. It's the same one over and over again. My dad says, "Maya," then dissolves into thin air.

This may not haunt you as much as it does me because you can wake up and call your dad who'll come rushing into your room to reassure you that "I'm still here. It's okay; I'm still here."

But I can't.

You see, my dad abandoned my mom and me when I was only six. He left without a word: no letter, no goodbye, no anything. He and my mom fought, but no more than the average couple, and he and I were close, so I don't understand why he would leave. Maybe he was tired of arguing, or maybe I annoyed him too much. I don't know why he left, but I _do_ know that I loved him. I would have convinced him to stay.

Months passed, and I eventually stopped eating. My mom grew more worried with each day that went by, so she took me to the psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with depression.

"It's natural for Maya to fall into this state," he said to my mom. "She was close to her father. I could give her a prescription for anti-depressants, but I don't think it's necessary."

It was necessary. Necessary every morning I woke up.

"Just give her time and comfort her. A mother's company should be enough."

And like he said, it should have been. My mom loved me, and I loved her, so it should have been enough. But she wasn't my dad. She scolded me when I burped instead of trying to burp more loudly, she made sure I ate all my fruits and vegetables instead of letting me sneak in a bar of chocolate before bed, and she didn't have the strength to pick me up and fly me around like an airplane.

"Together now!" my dad exclaimed, and we sputtered around the living room, avoiding all the sharp edges that seemed to plague the tiny space.

Sometimes I brush my arm against the old table to see if it can cut me, but nothing cuts as deep as your dad abandoning you.

. . .

"Rise and shine, Baby Girl!" Mom greets, pulling the warm, soft blanket off of me.

I groan and ask, "What day is it?"

"Saturday," she answers, and opens my curtains.

Saturday is Mother-Daughter Bonding Day. In other words, Spend-Time-with-Maya-and-Find-Her-a-Friend Day. She constantly says something about a kid around my age and asks what I think of him/her. I appreciate the effort, but I'm not looking for a friend. I like having my mom as my confidant, my constant. Almost as much as I like having my own space.

"Get dressed, Baby Girl," Mom orders, then leaves my room.

I don't give a crap as to what I wear, so I settle on jeans, black combat boots, and the mahogany T-shirt I wore to sleep. I pull my blonde hair into a messy bun and head downstairs.

"French toast, French toast, the food I love the most," Mom sings. She believes that if she's super happy and cheerful, it will rub off on me. Unfortunately, life doesn't work like that.

I take the carton of milk out of the fridge and pour it into a cup. "What are we doing today?"

Mom replies, slapping a slice of bread onto the pan, "We could go to the new cafe in the mall, Angel's. My coworker told me that the coffee makes your tongue dance with joy."

Sounds like something Pam would say. "That amazing? Wow."

"I'll take that as 'I want to go.'"

I take a huge bite of my toast, chug my glass of milk, and say, "Take that as 'It's not like we have anything better to do.'"

. . .

Apparently, neither do a hundred other people. Angel's is _crowded._ Pam must be right about the coffee, or the place could just be a new craze.

"Well, they're busy," Mom points out redundantly.

"That's an understatement," I mutter.

When we finally get to the front of the line, Mom orders a cappuccino, hands me some money, and tells me she's going to find a table.

"May I have black coffee, dark roasted?" I ask the barista.

"Coming right up," he responds, a hint of a Texan accent coloring his words. Lucas (I got his name from his name tag; I'm not a creep) is a slightly tan, muscular blond my age (Mom...) with an apparent fan club as most of the customers here are teenage girls. I swear, I think I saw a girl refuse to go up to the barista next to him because she wanted Lucas specifically to get her drink.

"Here's your coffee, ma'am."

"Thanks," I say, and look around the shop for my mom. I find her in the far back corner and navigate my way to her, and before I even sit down, she says, "He's kind of cute. Don't you think so?"

"Mom, it's one thing for you to try to find me a friend, and it's another thing for you to try to find me a boyfriend," I snap. I immediately regret my tone, but I'm just a natural at hurting people's feelings.

She looks down and brushes a lock of her blonde curls behind her ear. "Sorry. That's not what I meant to do."

I place my hand over hers, sighing. "I know you didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I just need you to remember that _you're_ my best friend."

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you, Baby Girl, but I just want more for you than half a mom."

I'm about to argue that she's more than half a mom when I notice a figure approaching from my peripheral view. I turn my head and think, _Lucas?_

"Hey, it's that cu - barista," Mom says, startled. "He's coming this way."

"Howdy," Lucas greets.

Mom, still surprised, replies, "He - hello."

"Hi," I mumble, looking down at my chipped nail polish.

"I think I've seen you at my school, Abigail Adams High School?" he says.

"Is that so?" I reply coolly.

"Yeah," he answers, grinning. "You're the girl with lightning blue eyes."

I bring my gaze to his sharply, and he stiffens. "You know why they call it 'lightning blue,' Huckleberry?" I ask. "I can send one look your way and make you freeze up like you've been shocked." Then I turn away, picking up my cup, and say, "Thanks for the coffee, Ranger Rick. It's delicious, but don't you have work to do?" I know I'm being hostile, but how _dare_ he interrupt Mother-Daughter Bonding Day? I hardly get to see my mom, and here he was taking my time away from her.

"Maya!" Mom scolds. "I am so sorry" - she pauses, reading his name - "Lucas. She's not usually like this." I am, actually. "She's just nervous." I am not.

"It's all right, ma'am," he reassures her. "I understand."

I quirk a brow and face him, jumping when I look into his eyes. He studies me, shows something that reminds me of what empathy should look like. It's not the sympathy I get from Mom when she thinks I'm not looking, not the sympathy I get from my therapist when I've accidentally said too much. And then I feel guilty for what I've said to him.

When he leaves to go back to his shift, Mom says, "Even though you were rude, I'm actually glad he came. That's the most you've spoken to anyone other than me and Tamara." Tamara is my therapist.

I nod, biting back my shame, and say, "I'm glad, too."

. . .

While shopping with Mom, all I could think about was Lucas. She kept talking to me, but it went through one ear and out the other. I think I heard his name at one point, but it could have been me morphing what I was thinking into what she was saying.

On the subway, I regain my focus, and Mom says, "Maya?"

"Yes?"

"Did you hear anything I said?"

"Uh..." So she noticed that I wasn't paying attention. Whoops.

"I said you should talk to Lucas. He's a nice boy, Maya. You don't meet nice boys like him very often."

I wonder if that was a jab at Dad, but I don't ask. Instead I reply, "Maybe I will."

. . .

When I go to bed, for the first time in a long while, I don't feel my blood pumping quickly through my veins, like I'm hyper-aware of my surroundings. At least I have something to think about other than Dad. I spend the hours until I drift to sleep coming up with a plan to start a conversation with Lucas. Saying hi is simple, but apologizing...I'm not good at that.

The last time I tried to initiate a conversation was when I was six, and I was still too young to understand what manners were. I literally made friends by yelling something like, "YOU HAVE SQUIRREL TEETH. I LIKE SQUIRRELS."

That night, I dream of chasing squirrels with Dad in Central Park.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who followed, faved, and reviewed!**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains a spoiler for _A Separate Peace._**

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Chapter Two

"Remember what you promised me you would do," Mom told me last night, but I would have remembered even without her reminder. I just need to have one conversation with Lucas, then she should be satisfied for a month or two. If I'm being honest, though, I don't know if I will ever bump into him. I hardly pay attention to anything or anyone at school, so I don't even know if he's in any of my classes.

When I get to the chemistry lab, my first period, I check to see if Lucas is there. He isn't. _Well at least I don't have to pretend to be vivacious,_ I think to myself. I spoke too soon.

"Howdy, Maya," Lucas greets, and slides into the chair left of me.

"Hi," I say, pretending to be busy with getting my notebooks out. "You remember my name."

He chuckles, a low rumble from somewhere deep in his chest. "Hard not to. Anyway, how are you this fine morn'?"

I wince at his exaggerated twang. My name is not the only thing he recalls apparently. "I'm sorry about Saturday," I apologize. "You just kind of interrupted the only day I get to hang out with my mom, which left me in a bad mood."

"Don't worry about it," he reassures with his accent returning to normal. "I actually thought you were kind of funny."

I finally look at him, quirking a brow. "You wanna test me, Ranger Rick?"

He smirks, and my blood boils with challenge. "It would be an honor - " he pauses to wink and tip an imaginary cowboy hat. " - ma'am."

My mouth twitches, my fingers curl, and I shudder. Lucas doesn't know who he's messing with, but he'll find out. Oh-ho-ho, he will.

The bell rings, and after Mr. Norton calls attendance, he announces that today we'll be doing an experiment. I zone out on the details, which sucks because I might have set the fire alarm off two or three times... But I still grab two beakers and hope for the best. I put the metallic looking thing into the bowl, and as I'm about to pour the liquid, Lucas yells, "Stop!"

I freeze. "What? What did I do?"

"So you really don't know what you're doing. You're not just trying to scare the crap out of me."

"Um."

He sighs. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he says, then takes the beakers out of my hands. "These are potassium and water, and when you put them together, they create an exothermic reaction. In big quantities, they can cause an explosion."

"Oh," I mumble, blushing. I couldn't even tell I was holding water. I thought it was vinegar or something, which, now that I think about it, sounds worse.

"How about this? I'll handle the experiment, and you jot down the data," he offers, already in motion.

I still nod in response and watch him work. He brings each beaker extremely close to his face, and I wonder if he's this OCD about everything. There's this furrow in his brow that I want to smooth out, which is stupid because I only know this guy's name. Touching him would definitely make an awkward moment. His jawline is sharp, sharper because of his concentration. Somehow, as I take him in, I still manage to write down our observations.

When Lucas finishes the experiment, he checks the data I collected. "Oh...," he says, and I cower. I hate when people judge my work. "What?" I ask. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing...nothing at all," he says, and turns to me with a sly grin. "It's just that you know more than you let on."

I scowl. "What's that supposed to mean, Hee-Haw? I hide nothing."

The bell rings to signal the end of class, and Mr. Norton's voice booms over the sounds of zippers and footsteps to say, "All right, students. We'll complete the conclusion tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your day!"

"Shall we ambulate to English together, ma'am?" Lucas suggests, holding out his arm for me to hold.

I didn't know we had second period together, but I pretend like I knew. "Golly, Huckleberry," I say, and loop my arm around his. "I would _love_ to."

Once we arrive, we choose the desks in the back. After everyone settles into their seats, Harper says, "Good morning, students. Guess what I have planned?" Every kid with a brain knows not to answer that question from a teacher's mouth, so we don't. "A project for you all to do by March seventeenth."

I grumble, "I'm stuck between irritation and admiration."

Lucas snickers. "Why?"

"Well, I hate that I have to work with a partner, but finding people passionate about their job is so hard to find."

"You're _sure_ a people person, Maya."

I growl at him.

"Get with a partner and find a classic book that we read during the year," Harper says. "It can be any literature, but there can only be one group per class that chooses that book. Like I said, it's due March seventeenth, so I expect you all to wear green." She laughs by herself, and I'm tempted to stand up, point a finger at her, and yell, "Dictator!" but I don't. "You'll be presenting from that day until the last person goes," she continues, unaware of my daydream. "Don't ask me for your specific day because I'll just be drawing names out of my motorcycle helmet. You have the rest of the period to do this project."

Lucas pokes me and says, "You and me?"

I shove him lightly. "You make it sound like I have a choice."

"Of course you have a choice. You just won't admit that because you're too hidebound."

"I swear, you said 'hidebound' just to make that twang come out."

He smirks and teases, "Maybe."

Our teacher approaches us and says, "Maya? Do you have a partner? If not, I can help you find one."

"Thanks, Harper," I say with a genuine smile. "But I'm working with Lucas."

Her eyebrows shoot up so much that she looks like a cartoon, and I have to hold back my laughter. "Oh. Well. That's good," she says, then smiles back at me. "I'll leave you both to it then."

I turn back to Lucas and say, "You know what book I actually read instead of using SparkNotes?"

He frowns. "Uh, is this a trick question?"

I ignore that unintentional insult. " _A Separate Peace._ Finny is my spirit animal."

"Doesn't he die?"

Again, I ignore him. "I love that book. It's the reason why I choose to be blunt instead of sarcastic."

He raises a brow at me and says flatly, "I highly doubt that's the reason."

"Okay, so it's not, but I use it as an excuse for my lack of filter."

"You know, for someone who doesn't have any friends, you sure do talk a lot."

"Shut up."

"Maybe that's why you don't have friends."

"Shut _up._ "

. . .

"What's one plus one?" says Lucas as he sits on my right.

"Eleven," I answer as I get ahead on copying down the notes. Mrs. Rowland likes writing on the white board, which is a plus (pun! Ha! No? Okay, no) for a lazy ass like me.

He smiles. "You know me so well after only three days."

"I hardly call that 'three days.'"

The bell rings, and Mrs. Rowland says, "All right, class. Today's lesson will be on parabolas."

Everyone but Lucas and me groan, except I'm not groaning because I finished taking the notes. Now I get to sleep.

I put my head down, but as I drift into Wonderland, I feel fingers tickling my sides and giggle. The sound is so gross and loud that I immediately sit straight up and ignore all the looks I get, including the one from Mrs. Rowland. When they turn back to the front of the class, I glare at Lucas who merely smirks as he writes down everything our teacher is saying. That Cactus Pete, Huckleberry, horseback riding Ranger Rick.

We always have ten minutes at the end of this period, and I spend it sketching in the margins of my paper. I sense Lucas looking over my shoulder, so I try to turn my body to him, but after a couple of failed attempts, I scold, "Stop distracting me."

"You really should be doing your homework, Maya."

"No thanks. I haven't done my homework since I was in first grade, and I'm not going to start now."

"What are you drawing anyway?" he asks, peeping over my head to take a look.

"Nothing, Cowboy," I say, and lean closer to my desk. "Now go back to your work."

"Okay...," he says, doing as I told him to, and after a while, I let my guard down.

Big mistake.

Lucas snatches my paper from me, and I move too slowly to get it back. "Hey!" I protest. "Don't be such a Quick Draw!"

He stares at each sketch intently, so I grow self-conscious and mutter, "They're just doodles."

He swivels in his seat to face me, and I bite my lip to keep a burst of laughter from escaping me. His face practically _stretches_ from his incredulity. " _Just_ doodles?" he demands. "They're masterpieces!"

Then I can't contain the bubbles of amusement and joy inside of me and release it into the small, bright room. Some people in close proximity turn to look, but I pay them no attention, especially because the class is hyper from the free time, so what makes me different? Well, other than the fact that they've never heard me talk.

"Honestly, Huckleberry. This isn't art to me. If you want to see art, swing by Mr. Jackson's room sometime," I say, and right as the last word leaves my mouth, my eyes widen. Did I just invite someone into my home, my safe haven, my _life?_

He grins, a glint in his eyes that I can't quite decipher. "I just might take you up on that offer."

. . .

I regret agreeing to this. One person in my life is enough. Two people is pushing my limits. Three is a huge no-no.

"Maya, this is Riley," introduces Lucas, sitting across from a lanky brunette. I notice he didn't tell her my name, so I assume we have a class together. I just wish I knew which one.

I awkwardly slide into the spot next to him and say, "Um. Hi."

Riley's jaw drops as she slaps a OJ carton onto the table. "You talk?" she asks me.

"Er. Yeah," I reply and wipe the scattered droplets with my blue cotton sleeve, unsure of myself.

Lucas chuckles. "You don't have to do that," he says, and I nod, twirling my thumbs in small circles.

"Maya," says Riley, and she frowns. "Where's your lunch?"

"Um...nonexistent?"

Her frown lines deepen. "Why?"

I don't answer.

"Then have some of my apples," Lucas proffers, and when I don't take the bag, he plops it on the crook of my arm.

"Lucas..."

"You're supposed to eat five fruits and vegetables per day," he asserts. "This is one of them."

"He's going to be a veterinarian," Riley claims with a goofy grin. She's obviously the type that everyone can't help but like.

I nibble at the apple slice between my tiny fingers. "I see."

Then she slides over a cookie in a napkin and says, "It's not as healthy as Lucas's choice, but I think we should be able to spoil ourselves sometimes."

When she winks, I think, _Yeah, I definitely like this girl._

. . .

"Hello there, Maya," Riley greets, sliding into the seat in front of me.

I jump. It's sixth period, meaning I am the least aware of my surroundings right now. "Oh, hi."

"How are you?" she asks.

Usually I hate small talk, but the way she's looking into my eyes makes it seem as though she actually cares, so I answer, "Better than most days, I guess." I shrug. "How are you?"

"I'm so excited that I'm having a real-life conversation with you," she admits, but then the bell rings, and she pouts. "Well that ended quickly."

Mr. Matthews announces the topic in the dramatic way he always does. "Civil War. Does anyone know what a civil war is?"

Riley raises her hand.

"Riley?"

"It's a series of battles fought between two factions of the same nation."

"That's exactly what a civil war is," Mr. Matthews agrees, moving his hand in a wide diagonal. "The U. S. Civil War was a fight for rights and equality..."

As Mr. Matthews teaches, I can't help but think that although the south was pro-slavery - which I know to be inhumane - maybe they felt something...well, _humane_. Maybe they were tired of being deemed as below the north. Maybe they needed to push their slaves around to feel good about themselves. In the end, they made not just any mistake, but rather an impulsive human error.

I know that it's abominable to try to justify the south's actions and that I could gain a lot of enemies from saying something like this out loud, but I mean it. And when you believe something, even if you don't say it aloud, you'll say it in your heart.

I'm just empathetic to those who don't get enough attention. No one ever stops to consider how the bad guys felt because they were, well, the bad guys.

But the people in this world are neither inherently good nor bad. It's just easier to think that that's the case because we couldn't live with ourselves if we realized we punish people who commit crimes with reasonable judgment. Of course, that is not to say all criminals have the right intentions. Just some do.

Maybe ideas like this are why I can't be mad at Dad for leaving.


End file.
